


Teenage Dream

by RedOrchid



Category: Bandom
Genre: All of them are, BAMF!Brendon, Community: bandomstuffsit, He's also pretty kinky, M/M, Teenagers, Threesome - M/M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:36:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Brendon goes after what he wants, Ryan is overwhelmed, Spencer hates his life until he doesn’t, boys are stupid and there are many thousand words of porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sabrina_il (marina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/gifts).



> Possible warning for cheating. If having sex with someone in your kinky threesome before officially becoming a kinky threesome qualifies as that.
> 
> Written for bandomstuffsit 2010.

In Spencer’s experience, there are two different kinds of people when it comes to Ryan’s love life.

The first kind is people who fall in love with Ryan, usually swept off their feet by Ryan’s persona of the week and too infatuated do anything more than blush and act awkward around him. The people who fall in love with Ryan are nearly always incredibly nice, which makes Spencer feel bad for them since Ryan’s way of dealing with unwanted attention is pretending to be completely oblivious to any signals they send.

The second kind is people Ryan falls in love with—bright and destructive, who live life like it’s a car that’s been designed for the sole purpose of being driven recklessly down the highway. They throw Ryan crumbs of affection like specks of fairy dust, just enough to keep him entranced until they move on to something else and Spencer gets woken up in the middle of the night by Ryan having yet another emotional crisis.

Spencer hopes that one day, Ryan will grow up enough to give the second type the finger. So far, the odds of that happening aren’t looking very good.

When Brent brings Brendon to practice, it takes Spencer less than an hour to decide that Brendon is a solid type one—giddy and impressed and so, so eager to please. Spencer sees a blush appear down Brendon’s neck as he watches Ryan play, and quietly resigns himself to a future of one fourth of his band acting like he’s never heard of such a thing as a boy being interested in another boy, another pretending like he’s suddenly blind and deaf (Brent usually takes the part of Switzerland when it comes to Ryan’s love life) and their newest member pining away in silence while Spencer has to pilfer a lot of cookies and do his patented Ryan-is-just-not-in-a-relationship-place-right-now routine to keep him from quitting the band.

He’s right on every point, save one: Brendon doesn’t pine in silence.

***

“I kissed Brendon.”

Ryan sounds dazed. Spencer chokes on the popcorn he just stuffed in his mouth.

“You what?”

“He, um—I just. We made out. Just now.”

Forget dazed. Ryan sounds downright awed, even through the bad reception in Spencer’s basement. On the screen in front of him, Tom Cruise is staring in shock as a building blows up in front of him. Spencer can totally relate.

“ _Why?_ ”

“I don’t know,” Ryan says. “He, um—Dad and I had a fight, so I went over to his place. We watched a movie on his shitty TV. And then, um. He—”

“He what?” Spencer says, half in alarm. “Also, you okay? Your dad didn’t—”

“No, it was—I’m fine,” Ryan says. “It wasn’t—anyway.”

“Brendon,” Spencer reminds him, fumbling for the remote to press the pause button.

“He told me he loved me,” Ryan says, sounding completely bewildered by the concept. “Like, we weren’t even—there wasn’t a _moment_ or anything. He just turned his head and said he was in love with me.”

“Jesus,” Spencer says, shifting his phone to the other hand. “What did you do?”

“Well, I—I kind of froze, I guess,” Ryan says with a nervous chuckle. “I mean, it’s, um. Nobody’s _ever_ —I mean, not even Amy, and I—I guess I started, like, trying to talk him out of it? Like pretending he was joking and trying to change the subject, but he just gave me this _smile_ and—”

“And _what?_ ” Spencer says, voice coming out higher than normal. “You just _kissed_ him?”

“No!” Ryan replies, sounding affronted. “Look, I tried to be nice, okay? Like, I was telling him that I was flattered and that I really liked having him in the band and everything, but he just kept smiling that fucking _smile_ , like I was breaking his heart or something, and like he’d _known_ that that was exactly what I would do when he told me—like he knew _me_ and could see right into my head, and _fuck_ , Spence, he just—I—he just _kept smiling_ and I—”

“You kissed him,” Spencer sighs. “To, what? Make him stop looking at you like a wounded puppy? _Ryan_.”

“I _know_ ,” Ryan moans, sounding so pitiful that Spencer can’t help but smile, just a little bit. “I know I shouldn’t have. It was just—”

“A mistake?” Spencer guesses. “So, you need me to, what? Call him? Smooth things over?” He says it with another sigh, already making a mental list in his head of things he needs in order to explain to a lovesick Brendon Urie that Ryan is emotionally incompetent sometimes (but that he never meant to hurt Brendon etc etc).

“Um,” Ryan says.

Spencer stops right in the middle of mentally checking “buy brownies” off his list. “Um, what?”

“I just,” Ryan says. “Maybe I should fix this on my own? Like, he’s in our band. I don’t want to make things weird, you know?”

“You just made out with our lead singer, who has a massive crush on you,” Spencer says. “Trust me, Ryan, it’s gonna be weird.”

“Still,” Ryan says. “Maybe I should just—”

There’s a strange tone to his voice, dreamy almost. Like Ryan sounds when he’s—

“You like him!”

“What? No!” Ryan protests. Spencer gives the phone his best glare, hoping the sentiment somehow carries through. “Okay, maybe a little, but Spence, you don’t get it, he’s like this—I don’t even know, it’s like—”

“Like what?” Spencer asks when Ryan’s been quiet for almost a minute. There’s a strange thickness in his throat that hasn’t been there before. He takes a sip from his can of coke on the table, tries to force the tension away by swallowing repeatedly.

“No one’s ever kissed me like that,” Ryan says quietly. “It was his first kiss—he told me—which, can you believe? Like, he’s _eighteen_. Do you think his parents used to lock him up in the attic or something? Because eighteen’s like, _really_ late to have never even played spin the bottle at a shitty party, you know, or—”

“Ryan!”

“Right,” Ryan says, and Spencer can hear him fiddle with his computer at the other end of the line. “But yeah. I’m the first person he’s ever kissed, apparently, and it was... Spence, I don’t even know what the fuck that was.”

There’s the awed voice again. For some reason, it makes Spencer’s stomach clench.

“You should go back,” he hears himself say. “Bring him some pizza or something.”

“I don’t know,” Ryan says. “You don’t think that’s—”

“Brendon eats at his job four times a week and pretends he does it because he loves shitty power muffins and not so that we won’t guess he can’t afford groceries,” Spencer says pointedly. “Playing the date card might actually mean he’d accept you buying him food.”

“We’re not dating,” Ryan protests. “There was some kissing, yes, and maybe I got hard—which you can’t judge me for because his neck smells really good, and he _wriggles_ , okay?—but we’re not dating. I can’t date _Brendon_. I mean, come on, Spence, don’t be insane.”

“Buy him a fucking pizza,” Spencer says, closing his eyes and swallowing again to make sure his voice stays normal. “I’m going to bed.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye and turns the sound off on his phone when it starts ringing again. He leans back into the couch and goes back to watching the film, trying to care when the girl Tom Cruise is in love with gets shot and bleeds out all over the pavement. It’s late when he finally goes to bed, resisting the urge to call Ryan back. If Ryan did what Spencer told him to do (and Ryan usually does, even if he moans and bitches about it at first), he’ll be at Brendon’s place right now, probably letting Brendon do something disgustingly sweet like kiss tomato sauce off the corner of his mouth. Brendon is nice. And genuinely in love with Ryan, apparently, which hopefully means that he, unlike quite a few of Ryan’s former girlfriends, won’t run off and cheat on Ryan the first chance he gets.

Spencer should be happy for them.

He makes himself put his phone down on the night stand and closes his eyes, forcing himself to smile into his pillow.

Happy it is.

***

“Can I ask you something that’s probably kind of weird?”

Spencer looks up from the magazine he’s been reading. They’ve been in Maryland for almost two weeks, and the pressure to finish the record is making everyone tense. Ryan and Brendon have been fighting practically nonstop since they set foot in the studio; Spencer’s been expecting Brendon to come to him for help.

“Sure.”

Brendon slumps down on the mattress next to him and shuffles around for a while, like he can’t get comfortable. Spencer raises an eyebrow at him and Brendon looks away, mumbling something under his breath and blushing profusely.

“You know, it helps if you make actual words.”

Brendon turns even redder, but when he turns his chin up, there’s a definite look of determination in his eyes.

“How do I get Ryan off?”

Okay, so that was totally not what Spencer expected him to say.

“Um...”

“I know it’s stupid,” Brendon says. “But things are getting really out of hand in the studio and I thought that if I could, you know...” He makes a flaily, aborted gesture that kind of conveys ‘hand job’ and bites his lip. Spencer blinks.

“I, um—I thought you guys were already doing that?”

Much more than that, to be honest. Ryan’s been practically living at Brendon’s place for the past couple of months, and knowing Ryan’s libido, Spencer figured the two of them would have done pretty much everything at this point.

“Uh, no,” Brendon says, sounding surprised. “We—I figured Ryan told you?”

Spencer shakes his head. Ryan might have wanted to, granted, but Spencer’s been steadfastly ignoring Ryan whenever the subject of Brendon and sex seemed about to come up. (Spencer manages to hate his loser virgin existence just fine without adding stories about two of his best friends fucking to the mix, thank you very much.)

“Oh,” Brendon says, and Spencer sees his shoulders slump. “Shit. That makes this a lot weirder. Sorry, I shouldn’t have—I’ll just—”

“No,” Spencer hears himself say, hand shooting out automatically to grab hold of Brendon’s wrist when Brendon starts to move away. “No, I want to help. Just... give me a moment, okay?”

Brendon nods and looks away, bites his lip again.

Spencer swallows. “So why haven’t you—?”

“I don’t know,” Brendon says, sounding frustrated. “It’s like Ryan thinks I have the plague or something.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Like, we’ll be making out, right?” Brendon continues. “And it’s _so awesome_ , and he’s—God, I just want to—he’s all relaxed and warm and _nice_ , and it’s so much better than fighting with him, even thought that can be pretty hot too, and he really is the most stubborn—”

“Brendon,” Spencer says, touching Brendon’s wrist again to break the flood of words, “Focus.”

“Right,” Brendon says, shooting Spencer an embarrassed grin. “Okay, so the thing is, like, we’ll be kissing, and we’re both hard—I mean, he’s not actually small, you know, and it isn’t like my thigh doesn’t have any feeling or whatever, and—”

Spencer gives him a warning look.

“Sorry,” Brendon says. He opens and closes his mouth, like he’s trying to find the right words. Spencer moves his hand from Brendon’s wrists to tangle their fingers together, squeezing gently.

“Whenever I try to touch him, you know, _there_ , he freezes up and makes this panicked sound and then he makes some sort of bullshit excuse and, bam!, no more kissing. And then he’s totally _weird_ and he won’t talk to me, and I know I don’t have a freaking clue what I’m doing, alright? I mean, I haven’t even had the chance to watch gay porn for more than, like, the ten second previews when you zap by the adult channels on the cable. The computer at home had the NetNanny of doom on it, and my parents would have _killed_ me if they’d found porn in my room, and when I moved out, I couldn’t afford cable, so I’m just trying to go with the flow, okay? And it’s obviously not working because I end up sucking so much that Ryan thinks I have sex plague, and if you don’t want us to kill each other in the studio over the next few days, you _have_ to help me.”

“Um,” Spencer manages. “What? _How?_ ”

“You’re his best friend,” Brendon says, like that somehow makes it obvious. “I figured he’d talk to you, you know, about... sex. And that maybe you’d know what he—you know, likes and stuff?”

“Likes and stuff?” Spencer echoes.

“Yeah. I mean,” Brendon says and then trails off, blushing. “Like, you guys went through puberty together, right? Didn’t you ever, you know...?”

“What? No!” Spencer says. Too loud. Oh fuck, way, _way_ too loud. “We, um—he talks to me about girls sometimes,” he says, trying to furiously push back the heat he can feel rising in his cheeks. “We don’t—I mean, it’s not like that. Ryan and I are just friends, okay?”

“Okay,” Brendon says. He sounds... almost disappointed, Spencer thinks. Which is ridiculous, unless he’s disappointed that Spencer won’t be able to help him, which, fair enough, except—

“Um, when he was seeing Callie last year,” Spencer says, hesitating, wondering how much he can tell Brendon without completely breaking Ryan’s confidence, “he said she had this thing she did with her thumb? Like rubbing a little circle right behind his balls? I don’t know, he seemed to be really into that.”

“Yeah?” Brendon says weakly, and Spencer realises too late that his hand has moved back up to circle Brendon’s wrist and that his thumb is rubbing little circles against Brendon’s pulse point.

He pulls away so quickly he nearly loses his balance and scrambles to his feet. “Um, yeah,” he says, determinedly keeping his hands from doing something stupid, like straightening his clothes. “I—need to, um, check how Brent is doing. Later.”

“Later,” Brendon replies, and Spencer can see him take a steadying breath before looking up to smile—too wide and forced at the edges.

God, that was so not supposed to happen.

Spencer flees.

***

“Okay, so why aren’t you fucking him?” Spencer asks two days later, pulling Ryan with him into the bathroom after Ryan throws an extra special temper tantrum because of something Brendon does wrong with his voice. “Seriously, Ry, I never thought I’d say this, but you freaking need to get laid. You’re behaving like a crazy person.”

“Fuck off,” Ryan spits, shoving Spencer away from him. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is when you’re fucking up recording!” Spencer shouts. “And when I have to deal with Brendon being in a bad mood all night because he thinks he’s awful at sex and you’re gonna dump him any second!”

“I don’t,” Ryan starts angrily. “What do you mean, awful at sex? Is that what he thinks? _Fuck_. He’s not—”

“Not what?” Spencer asks, forcing himself to calm down. Ryan groans and buries his face in his hands, sinking down along the wall until he can curl in on himself completely.

“Ryan...” Spencer sits down next to him, bumping Ryan’s shoulder with his own until he lets Spencer put an arm around him and pull him in. “Come on.”

“Fuck, Spence,” Ryan says at last, too small and broken-sounding against Spencer’s shoulder. “It’s not getting better. I don’t know what to _do_.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s so fucking embarrassing,” Ryan murmurs. “I mean, _he’s_ the virgin here. I’ve been having sex for _years_. It’s not _fair._ ”

“Just spit it out,” Spencer says, rolling his eyes and resisting the urge to point out that the one year and four months since Stephanie Miller jumped Ryan in the backseat of her dad’s car isn’t technically _years_ by any standard. He moves his right hand to card his fingers through Ryan’s hair, letting his thumbs stroke the tips of his ears softly. “Come on, it’ll make you feel better.”

Ryan laughs at that, short and disbelieving. Spencer moves his hand down to rub at the top of his neck. Gradually, he can feel Ryan relax against his side, but at the same time, he seems to be shrinking into himself even more. It’s making Spencer worry.

“I’m—he’s making me feel like—I can’t let him touch me because I’d lose it in all of two seconds, okay?” Ryan says at last, keeping his face down. “And if you even _think_ about laughing, I will fucking end you, swear to God.”

Spencer is momentarily stunned. Then everything inside him feels like it’s starting to shake apart. He presses his lips together hard, trying to keep the laughter down. It’s not a complete success.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Ryan says, pulling away from Spencer and pinching him hard on the arm, right where Spencer is the most sensitive. “It’s not _funny_ , asshole. Brendon’s gonna dump _me_ real soon if I don’t get myself together.”

“Couldn’t you, like...” Spencer says, doing his best to keep a straight face, “...you know, take the edge off? Before?”

“I’ve _tried,_ ” Ryan hisses. “I’ve never jerked off this much _in my life_. God.”

“Um. Yeah. Well, what about—”

“It’s just—his fucking _hands_ ,” Ryan cuts him off. “I can’t even watch him play anymore. I’m, like, hard and frustrated _all the time_ , and he keeps fighting me on everything in the studio and waving his fucking hands in my face, and I’m like seriously two seconds from jumping him.”

“So jump him.”

“And jizz my pants before he can even get a hand in them?” Ryan asks sarcastically. “Sure, Spence, awesome plan. That won’t be embarrassing or make him think I’m pathetic _at all_. Christ, I _wonder_ why I never thought about _that_ solution before.”

“Well, you can’t go on like this,” Spencer says, shrugging. “Because Brent and I _will_ kill you and Brendon will probably help.”

“Ryan? Spence?” Brendon calls from somewhere on the other side of the wall, knocking his way down the doors in the hallway. “Guys, are you in here somewhere?”

“Here!” Spencer calls, just as Ryan whispers a frantic, “Don’t tell him we’re here!”

Spencer gives him the finger and opens the door.

“So, Bren, Ryan needs to talk to you,” he says, ignoring Ryan’s look of _dead-dead-you-are-so-fucking-dead_. He gives Ryan a sweet smile and gives Brendon a pat on the back, doing his best not to think about how they are going to be having sex in the studio’s only bathroom and that Spencer will know about it every time he needs to go take a leak from now on.

Spencer should get a fucking best friend medal.

“Have fun,” he says, trying not to make it sound too much like _go die in a fire._ He even contemplates a little wave—something sarcastic—which is probably why he’s not fast enough to react when Ryan suddenly grabs his arm and pulls both him and Brendon into the small space, locking the door and leaning up against it, blocking the way.

“Um, guys?” Brendon says, looking from Spencer to Ryan with a confused expression.

Spencer looks at Ryan, who glares back, looking every inch the stubborn fucker Spencer knows he is. Awesome. Now what?

“Brendon, come here,” Ryan says, and Spencer has just enough time to think a general _what the fuck?_ before Ryan has Brendon pulled close and is kissing him with something Spencer can only call desperation.

Spencer swallows, watching Ryan move from Brendon’s mouth to his neck. Brendon’s mouth has turned pink and wet from kissing, lips parted as he gasps for air. Ryan moves his hands under Brendon’s shirt, pulling it over Brendon’s head in a quick movement. Brendon and Spencer make identical sounds of shock—and both of them freeze.

“Ryan?” Brendon asks, but even as he tries to step back, Spencer can see his hands trembling against Ryan’s chest, touching and stroking as though Brendon can’t help himself. “What is—why’s—?”

“Please?” Ryan whispers, just barely loud enough for Spencer to hear. “Please just kiss me?”

Brendon makes a whimpering sound but moves his head to the side, laying a line of biting kisses against Ryan’s throat. Ryan’s eyes flutter closed for a moment, like he can’t help himself either, and when they open again, Ryan’s looking straight at Spencer over Brendon’s shoulder, a twisted little smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

 _End you_ , Ryan mouths at him before kissing Brendon again. Spencer feels his stomach sink.

Why can’t he remember how much of a vindictive bitch Ryan can be _before_ pissing him off?

Ryan breaks the kiss to nip at Brendon’s neck and ear, murmuring words that are too quiet for Spencer to make out. Whatever he’s saying, it’s making Brendon blush hotter than Spencer’s ever seen him do before, but Spencer can practically see him melting into Ryan’s touch, so whatever it is, it’s obviously working.

Spencer tries not to watch as Brendon’s lips part for a loud gasp, back arching the way it does when he’s at the piano, letting the music swallow him whole and putting on a fucking amazing show without even knowing it. Ryan’s hands move from Brendon’s back down to his ass, hesitating for a moment before taking a firm grip and pulling Brendon in.

Spencer’s breath catches in his throat.

Brendon tilts his head back and makes a sound that Spencer couldn’t describe even if he wanted to. Ryan moans helplessly in reply and guides their hips together until they have a quick and jerky rhythm going and Brendon looks like he’s trying to press himself against the door by melting into Ryan.

“Fuck,” Ryan gasps, as Brendon manages an especially dirty grind, “Brendon, God, fuck, I need you to—fuck, just get my pants off already.”

Brendon makes another gorgeous sound in reply and attacks Ryan’s jeans with both hands, struggling to get them open before pushing them down along with Ryan’s underwear.

Spencer’s mouth is suddenly very dry.

He must make some kind of sound, because Ryan opens his eyes and looks right at him, eyes part angry and part begging for help. And Spencer gets it, he does. It’s not just about revenge—Spencer’s supposed to be a distraction, making this awkward enough for Ryan to kill the mood a little and help him last.

Sadly, Spencer thinks, that plan is about to backfire spectacularly, because Ryan’s pants are down to his knees and Brendon’s hand is moving quickly across his hip, going in between Ryan’s legs. Ryan makes a strangled moan and hunches in on himself, gripping Brendon’s shoulder like a lifeline, and Spencer wants to laugh hysterically, because he’s the one who told Brendon about that freaking spot, and now that’s what’s going to make Ryan shake apart right in front of him—and Spencer can’t do anything but _watch it happen_.

It shouldn’t be hot. According to all logic, it should be mortifying for all of them, Spencer thinks. This is Brendon’s first time, his and Ryan’s first together, and Spencer shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be watching the way Brendon’s hand moves as he strokes Ryan through the pleasure when Ryan falls apart, or the way Ryan is clinging to Brendon’s body and biting down hard on Brendon’s shoulder to muffle the sounds he makes. Brendon catches Ryan’s lips in a bruising kiss and pushes down his own pants with unsteady hands, and Ryan yelps in surprise as Brendon lifts him up and presses him harder against the door. Both of their jeans are still only pushed down half-way, stopping Ryan from winding his legs around Brendon’s hips properly, but he still does his best to push back whenever Brendon pushes up, riding Brendon’s hips with his thighs as Brendon moves desperately against his stomach.

He shouldn’t be there when Brendon tells Ryan he loves him, last word morphing into a long, low whine as he comes between them and Ryan keeps kissing the side of his neck. But he is. And when Brendon and Ryan finally come down, leaning heavily together against the door and sharing dopey smiles and soft kisses, Spencer is still standing there, feeling both like an outsider and like he was right there with them in the middle of it all.

He tries to take a breath and can’t get enough air. He’s hard and aching, feeling like every drop of blood in his body has relocated to his dick. He looks down. His hands are shaking.

He needs to get out of there.

Ryan’s the first to open his eyes. He takes one look at Spencer and freezes in place. Spencer doesn’t waste any time; he gets the lock open and pushes Ryan and Brendon to the side, wrenching himself through the opening and taking off down the hallway as fast as he can. He doesn’t stop running until he’s three blocks away from the studio, just passing the small park they cross through every day when heading back to the apartment.

He kicks at a bench until his foot hurts and sinks down on it, letting his head fall into his hands with a groan.

Holy fuck.

***

He stays in the park until it starts to rain and a little while after that, until his hoodie is soaked through and he can feel himself shaking from cold. Even so, he drags his feet heading back to the apartment, imagining opening the door and hearing Brendon moaning from inside the only bedroom, or worse, finding them on the couch, shirts pushed up and pants pulled down because they just couldn’t wait, Brendon’s hands in Ryan’s hair, pushing him down between his legs, or—

Spencer stops in the middle of the last flight of stairs, leaning heavily against the wall and squeezing his eyes so tightly shut it’s almost painful. His brain keeps flashing back to Ryan’s hands gripping Brendon’s shoulders, the way his thighs looked around Brendon’s hips. The sound Brendon made as he came, like he was falling apart and was made whole all at once, and Ryan’s fucking _face_ , and— _dammit_.

Spencer slams the sides of his fists against the wall. Then does it over again until his hands are stinging enough to make his head clear a little. He walks up to their floor and takes a deep breath, puts his key in the lock.

The apartment is quiet, empty except for Brent and his laptop on one of the mattresses in the bedroom.

“Hey.”

Brent looks up and pulls off his headphones, gives Spencer a smile. “Hey, you’re back. Listen, I’m starving. You wanna split a pizza or something?”

“Um, yeah, sure,” Spencer says, looking around the empty room. “Where’s—?”

“Probably still at the studio,” Brent says with a grin. “Jesus, did you see them after they came back from the break tonight? So obvious they’d just fucked each other’s brains out. Ry forgot what he was supposed to be playing like five times when they were fine-tuning the guitar tracks.”

“Bet he was really happy about that.”

“He stormed out,” Brent says, grinning. “Brendon went after him. When they weren’t back half an hour later, I figured I might as well go back here and chill for awhile.”

Spencer nods. They were supposed to redo the bass for two and a half songs tonight, meaning that Ryan will likely be furious at Brent for skipping out tomorrow. At the moment, however, Spencer really can’t summon the energy to care.

“So,” he says, reaching for the pizza menu in their amassed pile of take-out fliers. “You want ham or pepperoni?”

***

Ryan and Brendon don’t come back until well after midnight. They do their best to sneak in, taking off their shoes by the door and leaving all the lights off. Ryan’s pretty good at moving through darkness without making a lot of sound from the countless times he’s sneaked out of his house and ended up climbing in through Spencer’s window over the years, but Brendon’s either been born with no night vision whatsoever or he’s too busy looking at Ryan’s ass to see where he’s going, because they’ve only barely made it into the main room before there’s a crash and some quickly muffled swearing. Spencer hears Ryan laugh, low in his throat, then a second, softer crash and a yelp of protest, like someone is being tackled to the floor.

Spencer reaches for his ipod.

***

He wakes up slowly, clinging to sleep where it’s nice and warm. He’s dreaming that he’s back home in his own bed with Ryan curled around him and the smell of coffee and pancakes wafting through the gap under his bedroom door. The smells are the first to go, giving way to wet clothes and stale air; Spencer turns his face deeper into his pillow, trying to save the illusion of warm puffs of breath against the back of his neck for as long as possible.

“Wake up.”

Spencer tries to shake his head. Dream-Ryan has all of his spindly limbs wrapped around him, and Spencer is _warm_ —toasty-sweaty just on the verge of being far too hot like he hasn’t been for months. No way he’s abandoning that for another day of fighting over takes and eating shitty cereal for breakfast.

“Spenceeeeeer...”

It’s Ryan’s voice, quiet and obnoxious right next to Spencer’s ear. Spencer flaps in Ryan’s general direction, swatting at the sound and stopping dead when he feels his palm connect with the back of a very non-imaginary head.

He twists around. It’s still dark in the room, quiet except for the soft snoring coming from Brent’s corner and sounds of Brendon moving in his sleep. He turns his head and throws a quick glance towards Ryan’s corner, just to make sure, finding nothing but an empty mattress.

“Hi,” Ryan whispers, wrapping one of his legs more solidly around Spencer’s.

Spencer blinks. “This is my bed.”

Ryan only hums and shuffles closer, a small, pleased smile on his lips. “Mine was cold.”

“What about Brendon’s?”

“He’s asleep.”

“So was _I_ ,” Spencer whispers. “Seriously, what the fuck?”

“I wanted to say sorry,” Ryan murmurs back. “I shouldn’t have made—earlier, in the bathroom. That was shitty of me.”

 _Well, yeah,_ Spencer wants to say, and would, if he was awake enough to think rationally. As it is, most of his brain seems to be focusing on Ryan’s skin, and what’s left of it is well on its way to freaking out over this.

Spencer clears his throat. “’s okay,” he manages, doing his best to block out any thoughts of Ryan that aren’t strictly platonic. They’ve slept in the same bed hundreds of times, shared the same bath, touched pretty much every part of each other during years of wrestling and climbing and tickling each other till one of them cried.

It’s never felt like this—like there are tiny electrodes at the tips of Ryan’s fingers, sending jolts of electricity through Spencer whenever they brush over his skin. Ryan’s left hand is on Spencer’s waist, the other on his chest, just resting there and feeling the unsteady beat of Spencer’s heart.

It’s nothing they haven’t done a million times.

Spencer closes his eyes for a moment and steadies his breathing, steels himself before pushing Ryan away.

“I need to sleep.”

“So sleep,” Ryan says, sounding confused. “I’m not gonna stop you.”

Spencer pushes him a little further off the mattress. “Go sleep with Brendon.”

Ryan makes another bewildered sound and looks like he’s going to argue. Spencer twists around and jams the headphones to his ipod back into his ears before Ryan has the chance.

He spends the rest of the night tossing and turning, waking up too cold and dreaming a bunch of really weird things he can only half-remember in the morning. At the other side of the room, Brendon is sleeping peacefully, a faint smile on his lips and Ryan’s face hidden in the crook of his neck.

Spencer turns his eyes away and pushes his blankets aside. At least he’ll get first shower in the mornings from now on.

***

Brendon is quiet over the next few days. This is unnerving in itself, but even more so since he’s ten times more quiet around Spencer than he is around anyone else. Also, he keeps _staring_ , eyes following Spencer around when he thinks Spencer doesn’t notice, looking away quickly whenever Spencer catches him.

Spencer gets it, he really does. If he’d been the one having his first time in a bathroom with one of his friends watching the whole thing, he probably wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye afterwards either.

He wishes Brendon would stop, though. Not only because Ryan’s starting to notice—and from the looks he’s sending Spencer, it’s definitely pissing him off—but because every time Spencer feels Brendon’s eyes on him, he manages to have really inconvenient memory flashes that make his breath catch a little in his throat.

It’s all so fucking stupid.

He makes it three days before calmly putting his drum sticks down in the middle of yet another pointless argument on why the chorus intro to “Tacks for Snacks” isn’t perfect yet and getting the hell out of there. He doesn’t go further than the break room; Ryan will want to go over drums again once he’s finished yelling at Brent, and Spencer doesn’t want to further accelerate the drama by doing something outrageous like going for a walk.

He gets a full ninety seconds to himself before someone comes after him. Brendon. Who, to Spencer’s dismay, looks like he’s gathered up all his courage and wants to talk about Important Things.

Spencer really doesn’t want to have that kind of conversation. Ever.

“I just wanted to say that... well... you know, I—”

“It’s okay,” Spencer says, giving Brendon a smile he doesn’t really feel. “Let’s just forget about it.”

“What? You mean like just—”

“Never happened,” Spencer confirms. “Let’s just... I don’t know. Come here.”

Brendon comes willingly, pulled in by Spencer’s hand on his arm, and Spencer pulls him close, puts his head on Brendon’s shoulder.

“I don’t want things to be weird with us.”

He can hear Brendon swallow, tensing up like he wants to reply. In the end, he just sighs and melts into Spencer’s side, however, and Spencer feels most of the tension in his own body seep out as well.

“I don’t want us to be weird either,” Brendon says, sliding an arm around Spencer’s waist and holding on tightly.

Spencer feels a genuine smile make its way unto his face and closes his eyes, hugging Brendon back.

***

“Ryan still thinks I have the plague,” Brendon says out of nowhere another couple of days later, right as the waitress at IHOP puts down a stack of pancakes in front of each of them. “Like, after—the, um, thing, I thought things were good, you know? I mean, he looked like he had a good time, right?”

He looks up at Spencer with an embarrassed blush on his face. Spencer very narrowly avoids choking on his coffee.

“Um,” he says, cutting a piece from his pancakes to have something to do with his hands, “I thought you guys were fine?”

More than fine, actually. Since the Incident That Never Happened, Spencer’s heard Brendon moan in more ways than he thought possible. He’s seen the lazy slump of Brendon’s body in the mornings, watched him sneak off with Ryan whenever they’ve had a minute free. Last night, he woke up around 2 AM to the soundtrack of what he’s pretty sure was Brendon getting head up against the front door, so as far as he knows, sex is definitely happening.

Brendon bites his lip.

“He’s—it’s always about me,” Brendon says quietly. “Like, he will jerk me off or blow me or whatever and then, you know, _do his thing_. And I can’t touch him.”

Spencer closes his eyes and takes another careful sip of his drink. Jesus Christ, images.

“Do you know if he’s, you know, into stuff?” Brendon continues, looking around the room quickly as though to make sure nobody heard him.

Spencer mentally bangs his head against the table. “Stuff?”

“Yeah, like, you know, _stuff_ ,” Brendon says, giving him a (frankly disturbing) eyebrow wiggle. “Like, kinky stuff or whatever.”

“Like what? Tying you down and calling you his little bitch?” Spencer asks, unable to keep himself from grinning as a hilarious image of Ryan trying to rock a pair of leather pants and a gimp mask pops up in his head. Then he looks at Brendon, who’s looking back at him with a completely serious expression. And even more of a blush in his cheek.

Spencer swallows.

“Um, no,” he says, putting a big chunk of pancake in his mouth and chewing it slowly, trying to stall. “Not that I know of. I mean, maybe?”

“Maybe?” Brendon echoes, his voice all affected and breathy, and Spencer really can’t look at him right now, can’t watch Brendon think about lying back on a bed with Ryan tying his wrists to the headboard, maybe adding a blindfold as well, teasing Brendon with his hands and mouth until neither of them can take it anymore, making him beg for Ryan to suck him harder, or jerk him faster, or pin him to the bed and fuck him until they can’t see straight, or—

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Spencer says, pushing himself out of his seat and hoping to God that his shirt is long enough that Brendon doesn’t see what this conversation is doing to him, what a fucking filthy pervert Spencer is turning out to be.

He locks himself in a stall, hating himself as he rips his jeans open and gets a hand around his cock. Images of Brendon flood his mind, of Brendon arching into Ryan’s touch, fisting his hands in the sheets while Ryan fucks him from behind; of Ryan leaning down to grab hold of Brendon’s hair, pulling his head back and biting roughly at his neck. He sags against the door, moving his hand furiously over his dick, thinking of Ryan’s fingers in Brendon’s ass, how Brendon would squirm and push into it, riding Ryan’s hand and throwing his head back and making the sound Spencer heard him make through the wall last night. Spencer bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, putting all his concentration into keeping silent as he spills over his hand, making a disgusted face at himself as he tries to calm his breathing down and reaches for the toilet paper.

Jesus fuck. This really needs to stop.

***

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Spencer looks up; Ryan is standing in the doorway, arms crossed in a way he thinks looks coolly intimidating, but which really only serves to let Spencer know that Ryan’s in a pissy mood and is looking for an outlet.

“Making dinner?” Spencer says, adding a small shrug that he knows will drive Ryan crazy as he dumps a jar of pre-made tomato sauce into a pan. He can feel a current of anticipation start up beneath his skin. Ryan’s pushing for a fight, and Spencer suddenly wants nothing more than to push right back. He’s been strung too tight for what feels like weeks now. He needs this.

“With _Brendon,_ ” Ryan says pointedly. “I mean, I get that you’re all lonely and frustrated or whatever, but if you’d stop putting the moves on _my_ boyfriend, that’d be really great.”

Apparently Ryan needs it too; they usually spend at least ten minutes feeling each other out before punching beneath the belt. Spencer feels the hum under his skin intensify.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, pushing Ryan aside to get some cheese from the fridge “But, hey, the jealousy is really flattering.” Blow deflected and thrown right back. He adds a smirk for effect.

“You’re always _touching_ him,” Ryan says, which makes Spencer turn and look at him in disbelief, because seriously? Ryan and Brendon spend nearly every minute glued to each other and looking like they just stepped right out of a porno—touching and kissing and generally making Spencer want to beat the shit out of something.

“You like him, don’t you?” Ryan continues, stepping closer, right into Spencer’s personal space. “I fucking knew it. You’ve been a bitch from the moment he and I hooked up. Which, what the fuck? You’re not even into guys.”

Spencer puts his hands on Ryan’s shoulders and pushes him away, adrenaline surging when Ryan stumbles and almost falls against the fridge. He wants to do more, something to shut Ryan up, or make him never shut up, or stopping him from being fucking _right_ , even when he’s not even trying to be, and— _dammit._.

“Wait, seriously?” Ryan says, obviously reading the answer right off Spencer’s face and seemingly losing his righteous anger for a second. He straightens himself and takes a couple of steps closer, looking intently at Spencer’s face. “Since when?”

Spencer shrugs. He doesn’t even know anymore. When he tries to think back now, all he remembers is how Ryan smelled when he and Tarah picked up Spencer and Amy for Spring Fling, or the first time he saw Brendon lose his breath over Ryan’s tight jeans. Little things. Stupid things.

Spencer really misses the uncomplicated days of having only Cameron Diaz’s boobs on his mind. He can feel the building anger fading, sinking into something twisted and dark, and has a sudden moment of panic.

This is _not_ what he wants.

He looks up at Ryan, pushes down the tightness in his throat and grabs for something to say, something that will sting enough to get the curious look off Ryan’s face and make him seethe, lash out.

“If you’re so worried about Brendon dumping you, maybe you should be nicer to him,” he tries, making his tone as condescending as he can. “You know, spend a little less time treating him like shit.”

Ryan visibly flinches. Good. That’s good.

“I treat him just fine.”

“You really don’t,” Spencer says, pushing for more. “I mean, what the fuck, Ryan? You yell at him all the time. You dismiss every freaking idea he has about the music. You let him think he can’t touch you because he’s too fucking inexperienced to make it worth your while. I mean, Jesus, the only reason you had sex with him the first time was to show me up. You didn’t even _care_ , what the actual _fuck_?” He doesn’t even have to think; the words are just there, surging up to the tip of his tongue. He can feel the hum grow stronger under his skin again, itching to break free.

He grabs hold of Ryan’s arm, squeezing too hard before pushing him away again.

“What do you mean I didn’t care?” Ryan throws back, voice rising. “Where the fuck do you get off, judging me for—” He’s got his hands on Spencer’s shirt, yanking hard before delivering his own push. Spencer’s hip collides with the edge of the stove, sharp pain shooting through his system.

This. _This_ is exactly what he wants.

“It was his first time,” he almost shouts, not really caring what he says anymore as long as it keeps Ryan going. “I know yours didn’t mean much to you and, yeah, most guys probably wouldn’t care much, but Brendon’s _Brendon_. He loves musicals and happy endings and Disney and freaking _Journey_. You seriously don’t think he expected a little more than getting jerked off in a dirty bathroom for his first time?”

“What the fuck do you know?”Ryan shouts back, pulling Spencer with him again and managing to get his arm twisted into a painful lock behind his back. “You haven’t even—mmph!”

Spencer has no idea how it happens. He just knows that at one moment, he’s struggling against Ryan’s hold, hissing something about Ryan being a selfish, arrogant ass, and the next he’s got Ryan pushed up against the counter, kissing him like it’s the only thing he can do to keep himself breathing. Ryan lets out a shocked gasp, but before Spencer can pull back—or even think about it—he tangles both hands in Spencer’s hair, kissing back desperately. His teeth scrape harshly over Spencer’s lower lip before sucking it into his mouth and drawing a deep groan from somewhere deep in Spencer’s throat, and Spencer feels like he should say something, or do something maybe—figure out the meaning of the muffled, out-of-tune warning bell that rings insistently at the back of his head—but then Ryan’s hands are on him again, almost shaking as they undo Spencer’s belt, and rational thought doesn’t stand a chance.

Spencer gets his hands under Ryan’s shirt, tugging until it’s off and he can move his mouth lower, mapping out the line of Ryan’s clavicle with his tongue and teeth. His head is spinning, sensations piling up too fast for him to process.

His back collides with something cold and hard. Fridge. Fuck. Ryan’s managed to get both their jeans off their hips, pressing Spencer back and yanking at his shirt, and _Jesus fucking Christ_ , that’s Ryan’s dick against his hip.

Spencer’s body moves into the touch on instinct, hips shifting to get closer. His hands are on Ryan’s shoulders, holding on too tight, trying to keep his knees from giving out when Ryan gets a hand between them and lines them up.

He hides his face in Ryan’s neck, sucking bruises into the skin to muffle the sounds he makes. Everywhere Ryan touches him is too hot, too much sensation all at once, like Ryan’s pulling everything in Spencer to the surface, trying to make him break through his skin.

He fucks into Ryan’s grip, needing more friction, blown away by how insane it feels. Ryan’s fingers are smoother than Spencer’s own, calluses in different places from guitar strings instead of drumsticks, but they have nothing on how smooth Ryan’s cock feels against his own, burning hot and perfect, making Spencer’s head explode a little bit every time they rub together.

Ryan is making tiny sounds against his neck, hitching breaths that are getting more and more desperate. Spencer turns his head to catch his lips, kissing Ryan to shut him up, fighting against the heavy feeling in his balls that’s so, so close to breaking.

“Oh God,” Ryan pants, breaking away as he speeds up his hand, his grip turning slick from how close they both are, leaking over Ryan’s fingers when he palms the heads. “Fuck, Spence, I can’t—”

Spencer swallows the rest of Ryan’s words with another kiss, squeezing his eyes together as the heat takes him over. Ryan moans into his mouth, and Spencer can feel Ryan falling with him, the way Ryan’s dick starts to spasm a split second after his own and everything becomes a blinding moment of white noise that’s so, so good, and Spencer can’t—nothing’s _ever_ —

The front door slams. “Jesus fuck, Bren, not in the _kitchen_. Can’t you and Ry—holy fuck.” </i>

Panic breaks through Spencer’s body like a red-hot knife, twisting the pleasure into something so painful he can barely breathe. He pushes Ryan away, trying to pull up his pants and ignoring the way his body is still shaking from the high of his orgasm.

Next to him, Ryan is fumbling with his clothes as well, neither of them looking up as they try to put themselves together. Fear is building in Spencer’s gut, making him want to double over. He’s got come on his chest, staining his shirt, and his mouth is bruised, his hair a mess. God, they’re so incredibly _fucked_.

Which is, of course, when the front door opens a second time.

***

If someone had told Spencer even the day before that he would spend an entire night in the same room as Ryan without being able to even look him in the face, he would never have believed them.

Brendon is gone. So is Brent. Ryan tried to follow, scrambling down the stairs, calling Brendon’s name. He came back only minutes later, clutching his jaw and bleeding from a split lip. Spencer sometimes forgets that Brent’s been Brendon’s friend for much longer than Brendon’s been in the band.

At the other side of the room, Ryan is curled up in foetal position on Brendon’s mattress, rocking himself back and forth. It makes Spencer hurt to watch, everything inside him telling him to go to Ryan, make him better.

He turns his back instead, pulls the blankets over his head. When he wakes up the next day, Brendon and Brent still aren’t there.

***

They wrap up the album as quickly as they can and pack their stuff back into Brendon’s mom’s van. Four guys, just out of high school, who now have an album to go with their record deal and a first tour as openers right around the corner.

No one feels much like celebrating.

Brendon and Brent take turns driving, camping out in the front seat and spending most of their time pretending that they are alone in the car. Spencer doesn’t protest, opting for staring out the window, cleaning out and rearranging the playlists on his ipod. Ryan is similarly quiet, curled in on himself, as far away from Spencer as possible. It’s been six days. Spencer can’t even remember a time when things felt more painfully awkward.

The quiet lasts until they stop for the night. The motel in question is small and cheap and, due to a busload of tourists heading for St Louis, overbooked. Somehow, Brendon still manages to sweet-talk the receptionist into giving them somewhere to sleep, coming back to where the rest of them are waiting with a triumphant smile and two keys in his hand.

“It’s two singles,” he says, picking up his bag. “On the third floor, and the showers are down the hall, but she gave us a discount, so I figured, you know, whatever.”

He hands one of the keys to Brent. Spencer rearranges the weight of his shoulder bag and reaches for the other one.

“No,” Brendon says, looking first at him, then at Ryan. “Um, you should go with Brent. I—Ryan and I... need to talk.”

It takes Spencer a moment to grasp the words. Brendon’s been avoiding both of them, but he hasn’t been doing any of the things Spencer’s known people (Ryan) to do when in a similar situation. He hasn’t even been angry, not in a screaming way at least, and now—

Now he’s looking at Ryan with a small, nervous smile on his face. Spencer swallows.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Brent says. Spencer looks at Ryan, who’s looking at Brendon with a mix of shock and fear. And an undertone of hope, which makes the now familiar knot tie itself a little tighter deep in Spencer’s gut.

“It’ll be fine,” Brendon replies with what Spencer thinks is supposed to be a reassuring smile. It mostly comes across as overcompensating.

“You know you don’t need to—” Brent tries again. Brendon takes a step closer to Ryan.

“I want to,” he says quietly, in a tone that makes Brent bite down on whatever he was going to say. They share a long look, and then Brent nods, picking up his own bag.

“Don’t make it worse,” he says to Ryan, adding a dirty look for good measure. “Smith?”

Spencer manages to move his feet, following Brent up the stairs to a tiny, incredibly depressing room at the end of a hallway.

The bed is really small as well. It takes Brent pushing past him to drop his stuff in the opposite corner of the room for Spencer to realise he’s staring at it.

“What side do you want?” Brent asks, already shuffling through his bag for a t-shirt to sleep in. “Whatever,” he says when Spencer doesn’t answer. “I’m gonna head down the hall and brush my teeth.”

***

It’s almost 3 AM and Spencer is pretty sure he’s losing his mind. The walls are thin enough to make him feel like he can hear the entire motel—people laughing in the hallway below; someone snoring; a baby crying; one couple having extremely loud sex in what sounds like the room right next to theirs—and no matter how tired he is, he can’t stop listening for more. Can’t stop wondering if any of the sounds are coming from Ryan and Brendon’s room and what the two of them are doing. If they’re fighting and breaking what’s left to break in each other. Or fighting and making up.

He really hates the part of himself that almost hopes for the first option. It’s just—

Ryan’s always been Spencer’s. And no matter how he tries, Spencer can’t wrap his head around the concept of losing that.

He hates himself for being jealous, because it makes him feel that much more stupid for having ended up in the mess he’s in. Even more so because he can’t even blame Ryan for wanting Brendon; if Spencer’s being honest with himself, he can admit that—roles reversed—he’d be willing to do pretty much anything to get Brendon to forgive him.

Ryan should have someone nice. And if Brendon’s willing to be that person despite everything, then... Spencer will figure out how to deal.

***

“I’m riding in the back,” Brendon announces as they pack themselves into the van the next morning. “And Ryan’s joining me.” He’s looking happier, Spencer thinks. Not _happy_ necessarily, not completely—especially since he also looks exhausted—but there’s a calmness to him that wasn’t there the day before, a focus when he moves and laughs at one of Brent’s jokes and actually meets Spencer’s eyes for a second.

Ryan looks just as tired, but he’s also walking around with the dazed expression he wore after Brendon first kissed him—like he doesn’t _think_ he’s dreaming but can’t quite accept that reality could be as nice as it’s being either.

They’re holding hands.

Spencer throws his bag in the back and calls shotgun, blaming the tight feeling that settles in his chest on the fact that he only managed to get a couple of hours of sleep. He’s good. They’re all good. Back to normal and able to focus on music again. Touring. Important stuff.

“So,” Brent says once they’re all in the car and back on the highway, “you guys okay?”

Brendon hesitates, looking at Ryan, who bites his lip. “Getting there,” Brendon says, and he and Ryan share a smile that starts small but looks more and more like a romcom happy ending the longer Spencer looks at it.

He doesn’t want to think about what happens now. Whether they can still go on being a band, dealing with being trapped together in small spaces 24/7. Whether he can watch Ryan and Brendon be happy together and get over the stupid crush he’s got (on _both_ of them, Jesus fucking _Christ_ ) instead of falling deeper.

“Wow, you look like shit,” Brent says, throwing Spencer a quick look as he signals to shift lanes.

Spencer looks at his reflection in the window and can’t help but agree with him. 


	2. Chapter 2

He starts Operation Get the Fuck Over Yourself as soon as they get back to Vegas. This mainly consists of hiding out at his house, letting his family spoil him and playing lots and lots of video games.

It doesn’t really make him feel better.

Neither does the fact that Brendon keeps calling him. Or that Ryan doesn’t. Or that Spencer keeps pulling up both of their numbers out of habit when he’s bored. After the first week, he has a million unsent texts clogging up his drafts folder—tons of meaningless things like _why is it so hot all the time?_ and _level 37!!! owned!!!_ that feel like they’re mocking him.

His instinct is to call Ryan and bitch to him about how his life sucks, but since he can’t even think about Ryan without remembering exactly how his hands felt on Spencer’s dick, that’ s really not an option at the moment. Besides, Ryan is probably busy doing other things. Sex things. With Brendon.

He tries his best not to think about it.

He’s been home for about ten days and is in the middle of dodging questions from his family about why Ryan hasn’t been over lately when the doorbell rings. Spencer’s mom goes to get it, and Spencer hears her voice go warm and happy when she greets whoever is at the door.

“Spencer, Brendon’s here to see you!” Ginger calls.

Brendon’s voice mixes with Ginger’s, laughing at something, and Spencer’s heart drops. Too many things happen inside him at once, the two strongest being an urge to flee and a wave of stupid happiness so fierce it makes it hard to breathe for a second.

“Spencer?” his mom calls again. Spencer swallows and pushes himself out of his chair, grateful for the fact that his dad isn’t home and his sisters are too preoccupied with a magazine to take a good look at his face right then. He tells himself he’s being stupid as he walks down the hall. It’s just Brendon. Brendon who is in his band and who obviously cares about it enough to show up at Spencer’s doorstep to talk to him. He can do this.

“Hi,” Brendon says, looking up at Spencer with a nervous expression. He’s wearing jeans and a shirt Spencer recognises as Ryan’s, looking exactly the same as the last time Spencer saw him. Except he also looks a hundred times better, somehow, like Spencer’s brain has let its appreciation for everything Brendon increase exponentially for every day Spencer’s forced himself not to think about him.

This is so not good.

“Your phone was off,” Brendon says. “So I thought I’d stop by. See if you wanted to... hang out or something.”

Spencer nods dumbly, putting most of his focus into not staring at Brendon’s mouth. So, so not good.

“Mario Kart?” he manages, feeling a surge of relief when his voice comes out more or less normal.

“God, yes,” Brendon says, lighting up. “Oh, and can we play Halo after? I haven’t played that in weeks.” He leads the way to Spencer’s room, almost bouncing up the stairs, and Spencer follows with a sense of dread that’s perilously close to excitement, keeping his eyes firmly on his feet.

***

“So, how are things?” Spencer asks when he can’t stop himself anymore. “Good?”

“Fine,” Brendon says, shooting Spencer a quick grin while keeping most of his focus on the screen in front of them. “Yeah, really good, actually. You?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Spencer says. His voice comes out too high. He puts his focus into killing a bunch of bad guys that have snuck up on them from the side. It’s a good distraction. At least until Brendon suddenly presses ‘pause’ and puts his controller down.

“I lied,” he says. “Ryan’s miserable.”

“He—what?”

“Miserable,” Brendon says, pulling his feet up and wrapping his hands around his knees. “You guys need to get over yourselves.”

Spencer doesn’t know what to say.

“He’s not _Ryan_ without you,” Brendon continues. “Can’t you call him? Please?”

Spencer swallows. The thought of calling Ryan—of seeing him and being physically reminded of what he doesn’t have and may have realised (too late) that he really wanted—freaking _hurts_. Hanging out with Brendon like this is already hard. Seeing Ryan would be—yeah, no.

“Don’t pretend you don’t miss him too,” Brendon says, looking at Spencer like he knows exactly what Spencer wants, and how much it hurts, and like there’s a way for him to magically _fix_ everything somehow that Spencer just isn’t seeing.

For some reason, it makes Spencer furious.

“I fucked your boyfriend while you were at the store,” he says, even though his brain is yelling at him the second the words are out of his mouth. “Shouldn’t you be telling me to stay the hell away from him?”

Brendon flinches, pulling away like Spencer just slapped him. Silence spreads between them, getting heavier by the minute and doing a great job of sucking all the anger and frustration out of Spencer and replacing it with a thick sense of dread.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s true,” Brendon says, shrugging and not meeting Spencer’s eyes. “I know you did.”

“Shit,” Spencer says desperately. “God, Bren, I _never_ —I swear we—”

“Did you know,” Brendon says quietly, “that when I first met you, I figured you and Ryan were together? Took me weeks to figure out you weren’t. And even then, I—the idea stayed with me I guess.” His lips curl up at the corner, like he’s remembering something funny, or maybe laughing at himself. Spencer quickly looks away.

“That’s why I thought I’d never have a chance,” Brendon continues. “Because if he were to date a guy at all, why wouldn’t he pick you? I mean, have you _seen_ you?”

Spencer opens his mouth to reply. Then he closes it again, bites his lip.

“I should go,” Brendon says, pushing himself off the edge of the bed. “We should start practicing for the tour, though. Next week or something.”

The band. Right. Spencer manages a nod.

“See you,” Brendon says, and then he’s gone, closing the door to Spencer’s bedroom behind him. Spencer stares at it for a long time before dropping his head into his hands with a groan, wondering why he couldn’t just have swallowed his pride (or whatever idiotic impulse it is that keeps making him fuck things up worse) and let Brendon smooth things over.

***

That night, he dreams of gravel hitting his window, tapping out the beat to _All the Small Things_ until he gets out of bed and opens it.

Ryan climbs in, wearing nothing but a mess of different coloured ribbons. He smiles at Spencer, reaches for him and kisses him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hands go to Spencer’s hips, guiding him backwards, and Spencer follows his lead blindly, kissing Ryan back.

“You gave me half your cookies,” Ryan says, toppling them both onto the bed and dragging his hands along Spencer’s sides to his chest. “That time, remember?”

He props himself up on one elbow and takes hold of Spencer’s hand, pressing it against a bright yellow bow on his chest. “Open it.”

Spencer tugs at the ribbon. It opens easily, falling away from Ryan’s skin, and as they keep kissing, Spencer feels it snake its way around his own wrist, circling its way up until it’s wrapped tightly around the top of his arm.

“Another one,” Ryan says, moving Spencer’s hand to a silver bow, then a blue one. Every ribbon he unties slips around Spencer’s body, wrapping up more and more of his skin. Ryan kisses the patches that are left, strokes slow paths along the edges that make Spencer shiver. “There. Now you’re perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” Spencer asks, arching up to press the top of his thigh more firmly into Ryan’s hand. The last ribbon is still moving, wrapping itself teasingly around his cock. Ryan leans down and kisses the crown, running his tongue along the underside, making the ribbon follow and tie itself into a large bow. Spencer moans.

“It’s for me,” another voice says, and Spencer turns his head, sees Brendon lying next to him on the bed, twirling one of Spencer’s ribbons around his index finger. “You’re all for me.”

He leans in and kisses Spencer, tugging at one of the ribbons around Spencer’s chest. It comes free as easily as they did on Ryan, and Spencer watches in fascination as it wraps itself snugly around Brendon’s stomach. Brendon moves to lie on top of him, and the ribbons follow the movement of Spencer’s arms and legs, anchoring Brendon’s body to Spencer’s and tying them together. The knots tighten gradually, pressing their hips together and making Brendon gasp hotly against Spencer’s mouth. Spencer moves his own hips, grinding up against Brendon and hugging him even closer as their lips and tongues meet for another kiss, then another.

“Merry Christmas,” Ryan says from far away, and Spencer wants to argue that it’s still summer out. He reaches out for Ryan with the one hand he still has free and finds nothing but air. The ribbons wrap themselves more snugly around him, suffocating him in heat and pleasure and _Brendon_ , making his body melt into submission in a way that feels achingly good.

“I’m your present too,” Brendon whispers, moving his hips in another dirty grind.

Spencer wakes up panting.

***

Being in the same room as two people you’ve had wet dreams about every night for four days running is really awkward, but Spencer does his best to pretend otherwise. They’re going out on tour in less than a week, which means things need to get back to normal, and for Spencer, contributing to this apparently includes saying yes without thinking when Brendon asks him along for coffee after practice that night.

The three of them go to one of the coffee shops at the local mall, squeezing into a corner with their bags. Ryan goes to the counter, and Spencer debates with himself whether to follow him and possibly have an awkward moment now, or stay with Brendon and possibly have an awkward moment standing alone in line and watching them flirt over coffee later.

He chooses to stay.

“I saw _Raiders of the Lost Arc_ last night,” Brendon says. “Not a good idea in my building, let me tell you.”

“More bugs?” Spencer says, making a disgusted face when Brendon nods. “What about the pepper-in-the-corners thing?”

“Worked for a while,” Brendon says. “They keep coming back. And my landlord is being a total dick about it.”

“Doesn’t he like, _have_ to exterminate them?” Spencer asks. “Aren’t there laws or something?”

“Yeah, well,” Brendon says with a sigh. “Seeing as I’m pretty sure he uses the basement to sell drugs, I don’t think he cares.”

“Want me to smack some sense into him?” Spencer jokes. He’s met Brendon’s landlord. The guy’s definitely not someone Spencer would want to meet in a dark alley somewhere. Saying it makes Brendon smile, though. Spencer feels some of the muscles in his back relax.

“Grab this, will you,” Ryan says from behind, passing a big mug of something warm to Spencer.

Spencer reaches back automatically and takes the mug, putting it on the table in front of them. Ryan hands him some more stuff and then disappears for moment to get rid of his tray, leaving Spencer to look at what’s laid out in front of him.

There are three mugs and plates, not two. Spencer blinks. He looks at Brendon, who is reaching for his plate and trying and failing to hide a smile. Spencer swallows, feeling like his skin is too tight all of a sudden. The feeling intensifies when Ryan gets back, moving awkwardly and almost falling over his own bag while very obviously not looking at Spencer.

He reaches for the mug in the middle. “What’s this?”

Ryan sits down and pulls his own mug towards him, curling up in his chair before giving Spencer a look that’s somewhere between embarrassed and defiant. “Vanilla latte.”

“And this?”

“Blueberry scone.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Ryan just shrugs. On Spencer’s other side, Brendon is smiling. A lot. Which seems to be making Ryan increasingly more embarrassed.

Spencer hates feeling like he’s missing something.

“What if I don’t want a blueberry scone?” he says, mostly just to see what Ryan’s reaction will be.

“You broke two sticks today,” Ryan says. “The ones with pointy tips you got on your birthday last year that the music store doesn’t stock anymore. You always want blueberries when you break something important.”

Spencer stares at him. As far as he knew, Ryan wasn’t even paying attention to him during practice.

“And the vanilla?”

“It’s Monday,” Ryan says, like that explains it all. Brendon’s smile widens.

“I got hot chocolate,” he tells Spencer. “With extra cream and marshmallows because Ryan is a clever, clever guy who wants to get laid tonight.”

Spencer almost chokes on his coffee. So does Ryan, which somehow makes Spencer feel a lot more at ease.

“I’m telling you, Spence, you’d better watch out,” Brendon says, giving Spencer a wink.

Spencer frowns. “Because?”

“Because he clearly wants to get back in your pants,” Brendon says.

Spencer blinks, feeling like the world around him has switched places with that from another dimension without him noticing. They’re talking about this? Talking _and_ making jokes? _Making jokes about him?_ a small voice in his head asks, making something cold knot itself in Spencer’s gut. He looks at Ryan, trying to figure out what’s going on.

Ryan looks like he’s wants to sink through the floor from embarrassment. He’s curled up on himself completely in the chair, holding his cup of coffee in both hands like a shield. The longer Spencer looks at him, the more Ryan shrinks away, and the more convinced Spencer becomes that whatever happens next, it can’t be good.

“What the fuck is going on?” he asks slowly, looking from Ryan to Brendon and then back again.

Ryan won’t meet his eyes.

“Ryan.”

“It’s nothing,” Ryan says. “Brendon’s being an ass.”

“Being an ass _why?_ ”

“Because Ryan’s in love with you,” Brendon says quietly.

Spencer nearly drops his mug. “He—what?”

“Ryan,” Brendon says, keeping his eyes on the way he’s slowly crumbling the muffin on his plate, “is in love with you. And—” He hesitates, shooting Ryan a quick look before turning to Spencer, “—I think I’m starting to feel the same way.”

***

It takes almost a full five minutes before Spencer can breathe again. He throws another handful of cold water in his face, keeping his eyes closed to avoid looking at himself in the restroom mirror.

_Ryan is in love with you._

What the fuck just happened?

His head is running in circles around itself, telling him it was all a joke, that he will go back out and Brendon will apologise, laugh it off. Or that it was part of a fight Ryan and Brendon were having that Spencer accidentally got roped into. Except that would be really fucking mean, and Brendon is sometimes a clueless douche, but he’s not _mean_ , and Spencer doesn’t know how to interpret what he said, because there’s _no fucking way_ they actually—

_I think I’m starting to feel the same way._

Spencer takes a deep breath and reaches for the paper towels. He’s going to go back out, finish his coffee and pretend like nothing happened. And then go home and convince himself it didn’t.

He runs his hands under the sink again, drinks a mouthful of water.

Here goes nothing.

“Brendon left,” Ryan says hollowly when Spencer makes his way back to their table. “We, um, had a fight.”

The seat across from him is empty, half of Brendon’s hot chocolate still left in the mug. Spencer doesn’t know what to say.

“Do you—I mean—do you need a ride?” Ryan asks. “My car’s right over there, and I’m not going back to Brendon’s, so.”

Spencer swallows. Brendon’s voice keeps ringing in his head, listing two very good reasons for why Spencer should not be alone with Ryan right now and running them on repeat. He picks up his bag, hesitates.

“Come on,” Ryan says, grabbing his own bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “I need to get back before my dad gets home.”

He walks out of the coffee shop without looking back. Spencer watches him leave.

Then Ryan turns around, realising Spencer isn’t with him, and Spencer’s breath catches in his throat. Ryan looks utterly lost, like he’s on the verge of breaking apart, and the look he sends Spencer is so full of defeat that Spencer can feel it mirrored in his entire body.

It takes him twenty steps to reach Ryan, and once he’s there, his body keeps going on its own, pulling Ryan into a hug that’s tight enough to leave them both aching. Ryan hugs him back just as hard, burying his face in Spencer’s neck and whispering stupid apologies over and over that Spencer realises he doesn’t even need anymore.

He has Ryan back.

Spencer takes a shuddering breath, feeling it flow from him to Ryan and breathing in the familiar smell of Ryan’s hair. He’s got Ryan back.

Ryan hugs him tighter.

***

“He wasn’t joking,” Ryan says quietly.

They’re parked on the corner two streets away from Spencer’s house. Spencer turns his head to look at him, pushing down the sudden tightness in his throat.

“Brendon,” Ryan continues, “He figured it out pretty much right away. He said we needed to talk about it and I had no idea what to say to him. I mean—fuck—how do you even explain something like that?”

“Like what?” Spencer asks. He thinks he knows—heard Brendon say it even—but what he thinks is still too huge and too unbelievable to fit into his head; he needs Ryan to spell it out.

“He thinks I’m in love with you,” Ryan says.

Spencer lets out an unsteady breath. “And?”

They’re close, probably too close for the conversation they’re having, leaning into each other across the armrest, touching all the way from their shoulders down to their hands. Spencer bites his lip, letting his head tilt the last few inches to the left so that the side of their faces touch.

“I am,” Ryan says, barely louder than a whisper. He pulls back with an unsteady breath, looking like he half-expects Spencer to hit him across the face.

Spencer leans in and kisses him.

It’s quiet this time, just lips against lips, barely breathing. Then Ryan makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and slides a hand into Spencer’s hair, and Spencer _needs_ to kiss him again, deeper and wetter, chasing the taste of Ryan underneath the layers of caramel and coffee, wanting to get as close as he possibly can. It’s nothing like the biting anger and jealousy from the last time they were together; instead, it feels _right_ in a way Spencer’s never experienced before, which is crazy, because they shouldn’t even be here. Brendon’s—

_Brendon._

“Wait,” he says, breaking the kiss and trying to catch the thought that just seared through his brain. “Brendon said—God, do that again—he said—mmph—that he—”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, pulling Spencer’s head down for another kiss. “He told me. Said it was okay for me to want you, because he—”

“He—?” Spencer asks, word finishing on a low groan as Ryan slides a hand up the side of his thigh.

“Because he does too,” Ryan manages, tugging at the edge of Spencer’s shirt now. “Fuck, you’re still too far away. Come on.”

Spencer lets himself be pulled half-way into Ryan’s lap before his brain catches up with what Ryan just said. What it means. What Spencer might be able to have, if he’s got the guts to go for it.

He pushes Ryan back, presses their foreheads together until he can steady himself enough to give Ryan a significant look. “Then what the fuck are we doing here?”

Ryan takes a moment to catch on, but when he does, his smile is breathtaking.

Spencer scrambles to get back in his seat.

***

“Brendon, open up!”

Ryan is practically pounding on the door, and Spencer would worry about neighbours if he didn’t know that the ones in Brendon’s building probably wouldn’t care even if they heard a gunshot coming from his place. He presses close to Ryan, needing to feel him to keep believing that they’re really about to do this.

Brendon opens after the first couple of rounds, eyes widening as he sees Spencer standing there as well. He opens his mouth, starts saying something. Ryan pushes him into the apartment and kisses him before he even has a chance.

Spencer follows, closing the door and turning the lock. Ryan already has Brendon’s shirt off, tossed aside on the floor as Ryan moves them further into the apartment.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says between kisses, touching Brendon’s face with both hands. “Bren, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t get—I just couldn’t believe you meant that—”

“Shut up,” Brendon says, kissing him back just as fiercely. “You’re here.”

He raises his head and looks at Spencer, pulling away from Ryan to wrap Spencer in a tight hug. “You’re both here. Jesus fuck.”

Ryan joins them, wrapping his arms around both of them, and Spencer feels laughter bubble up from somewhere deep inside him, unable to keep it in, because this, _this_ is just fucking unbelievable.

“I’ve had a crush on you since the first day we met,” Brendon tells him, words choked out because Brendon is laughing himself, which in turn pulls Ryan along, until they’re all laughing so hard, they can barely breathe. “You did that flippy thing with your hair and gave me a death stare for putting my Coke on the amp, and I wanted to fall to my knees then and there.”

“You were wearing those jeans,” Ryan manages to add. “Brendon kept staring.”

“ _You_ were being all tortured and pretty,” Brendon counters, pressing a quick kiss to Ryan’s hair. “Fuck.”

“We’re really doing this?” Spencer asks, because he needs to be sure. These things don’t actually happen to normal people.

“So totally are,” Brendon says, and then he’s pulling Spencer in for a kiss, wrapping both arms around his neck and just going for it, with Ryan still hanging off both of them and leaning his head against Brendon’s shoulder. Spencer melts into the kiss, noticing the way Brendon’s lips are fuller than Ryan’s, more hesitant—like he’s waiting for Spencer’s permission before going any deeper. Spencer parts his lips, pulling Brendon closer. His tongue teases the corner of Brendon’s mouth, and Brendon parts his lips with a groan, giving himself to Spencer completely.

Spencer feels another set of lips brush the top of his neck, then travel across his cheek until they reach his mouth. Ryan kisses him there, then moves across their joined mouths to Brendon’s face, doing something that makes Brendon whimper.

Ryan turns Brendon’s face to the side, kissing him deeply, and Spencer keeps his hands on both of them as it happens, feeling the heat run between them like a wave.

“Let’s start with you,” Brendon breathes, reaching down and pulling Ryan’s shirt over his head. Ryan makes a protesting sound that Brendon ignores completely, chuckling low in his throat as he finds Spencer’s hands, putting them on Ryan’s naked chest.

“I love making you insane,” Brendon whispers, smiling conspiratorially at Spencer over Ryan’s shoulder before going for his pants. “Love putting my hands on you, making you come, making you lose it completely...”

Ryan moans loudly, a hint of desperation in his voice. Spencer wholeheartedly agrees.

Meanwhile, Brendon isn’t wasting any time, dropping to his knees and pulling Ryan’s cock out of his underwear. Spencer wraps both arms tightly around Ryan’s chest, steadying both of them as he watches Brendon’s mouth part around the swollen head, how his tongue comes out to play and lick a long stripe all the way from Ryan’s balls. Ryan throws his head back against Spencer’s shoulder, panting for air as Brendon starts going down on him. Spencer keeps watching, transfixed, as more and more of Ryan’s erection disappears between Brendon’s lips and comes back out, shiny and wet, as Brendon goes back to licking at the head.

“Please,” Ryan begs, grabbing on to Spencer’s arms and digging his nails in so hard it makes Spencer gasp. “I’m gonna come. You need to st—fuck, Bren—I can’t—”

The sentence finishes on a groan, and Spencer watches as Ryan’s whole body seems to spasm, hips working desperately as Brendon takes him deep, sucks him through it until Ryan’s body slumps.

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” Brendon murmurs, kissing his way up to Ryan’s face and bringing their mouths together. “Love you so much.” He breaks the kiss and reaches for Spencer, kissing him deeply over Ryan’s shoulder. He tastes bitter, a little salty—like Ryan, Spencer realises—and, fuck, that thought alone is enough to get him from all the way hard to positively aching.

Between them, Ryan squirms, like he’s trying to get away from where he is. Spencer doesn’t want that.

“Nu-huh,” Brendon says, obviously reading Spencer’s mind and pushing Ryan back, until they’re all kneeling on the mattress Brendon uses for a bed. “We’re not done with you yet.”

“I just came,” Ryan says. His cheeks are burning and he’s got his best bitch face on, which makes Spencer think his little problem where Brendon’s concerned hasn’t been resolved yet (not that Brendon seems to mind). “So yeah, that kind of does mean I’m done. Here, move over, I’ll blow you or something, I—”

“Not a chance,” Brendon says, putting a little more weight into pushing Ryan down. “Spence? Help me out?”

Spencer looks at him, hoping for a cue. Brendon does him one better, taking Spencer’s hand and bringing it to his mouth.

“Fuck,” Ryan moans, echoing Spencer’s thoughts exactly as Brendon sucks two of Spencer’s fingers into his mouth, making a show of getting them wet.

“You’re always torturing me,” Brendon murmurs to Ryan, letting go of Spencer’s hand and leaning down, taking Ryan’s lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss. “It’s my turn. I want to make you feel like you don’t even have a brain anymore.”

“What, like you?” Ryan tries, voice coming out far too breathy for it to carry any real venom. Brendon just laughs and tells him to shut up, stroking Ryan’s leg affectionately as he moves to the side.

“Spence, come here.”

Spencer shifts closer, hesitating. He doesn’t want to admit that he really doesn’t have much of a clue about what he’s doing. Then again, Ryan knows that, and Brendon probably does too. He bends down for a kiss, moaning when Brendon leans his head back against Ryan’s hip, making the side of Spencer’s face brush against the underside of Ryan’s dick as they deepen the kiss.

“Spencer,” Ryan complains from somewhere above his head, sounding rough and sexy and a whole bunch of other things that make Spencer think that Brendon’s plan to keep torturing him is a really good idea. “Come on, you’re supposed to be on my side here. We— _gnnngh_.”

“You should be naked,” Brendon says, leaning in to kiss Spencer again while one of his hands is doing something really interesting between Ryan’s legs, judging by the sounds Ryan is making. “Hell, _I_ should be naked too. Why isn’t there more naked?”

Spencer grins, feeling some of the nervousness evaporate in the face of Brendon—even with an obviously dirty mouth and two fingers between Ryan’s legs—being so utterly familiar. He pulls off his shirt, then his jeans, taking his underwear and socks with him before starting in on Brendon.

He takes the pants off first, getting Brendon’s fly undone and pulling the denim down while placing little kisses on whatever skin becomes available. Brendon groans and pushes himself higher, getting up on his knees when Spencer pulls his underwear down and putting both hands on his ass.

“We’re trying to torture Ryan,” Brendon says, the reproachful tone in his voice woefully contradicted by the way he’s pushing his ass wantonly into Spencer’s hands. Spencer gives him a playful slap.

He expects it to make Brendon yelp. Maybe cuss him out and promise a gruesome revenge. Something along those lines.

Watching Brendon’s whole body shudder and a desperate moan break from his throat’s definitely _not_ what he thought would happen.

Oh, wow.

He does it again without thinking, letting his other hand connect with Brendon’s ass, hard enough that it has to hurt.

Brendon’s head drops down against Ryan’s thigh, and the sound he makes is enough to make Spencer really happy that nobody is touching his dick right now.

“Seriously?” Ryan says, pushing himself up on his elbows and looking at Brendon with an absolutely giddy expression. “Spence, do it again.”

Spencer gives Brendon a couple of seconds to protest, and when he doesn’t, he brings his right hand down again, hitting the same place he did with his first slap. Then again, and again, until, at the sixth or seventh one, Brendon makes a high-pitched sound and presses his forehead more firmly against Ryan’s thigh, clinging to the sheets with both hands like they’re the only thing that keeps him grounded.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan says, reaching down to card a careful hand through Brendon’s hair. “You came? Just from that?”

He sounds completely awed. Spencer shares the sentiment.

Brendon lifts his head slowly, still fighting to catch his breath. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, returning Brendon’s smile with one of his own. “Wow’s pretty good.”

Brendon keeps smiling, trailing his fingers over the sheets until he reaches Ryan’s thigh, moving higher.

“I love how sensitive you are,” he tells Ryan, drawing little spirals on the inside of his thighs. “After you come and relax into it more. I love how it makes you feel around me.”

He puts one finger in his mouth, getting it wet and pushes it gently against Ryan’s opening. Ryan gasps, and Spencer swallows hard as he watches Brendon’s finger push deeper, disappearing into Ryan’s body like it’s meant to be there.

“Wanna fuck him?” Brendon asks, giving Spencer a hopeful smile.

Spencer really, really does.

“There’s lube on the floor,” Brendon says, turning his attention back to Ryan and adding another finger to his ass. “Condoms too. Somewhere.”

Spencer almost falls off the mattress in his hurry to look. Brendon’s bed is surrounded by all sorts of crap. Fortunately, lube and condoms turn out to be part of it.

“Um, so how does—” he starts, breaking off mid-sentence because Brendon has moved around on the bed and he and Ryan are head to foot, fingering each other, which is so much fucking hotter than any 69 porn Spencer’s ever seen. He drops the condoms on the bed, hand going to his dick automatically. Ryan’s got his head pillowed on the inside of Brendon’s thigh, face hidden, and Spencer wonders if he’s doing what Spencer thinks he’s doing, if that’s his _tongue_ opening Brendon up and making Brendon writhe against him. He speeds up the movement of his hand, lying down next to them and craning his neck to see over Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan’s tongue is working with sharp, quick licks, darting between two of his fingers as he pushes them in and out of Brendon’s hole. And fuck, that is hot, and Ryan’s body is right there, perfect for Spencer to rub up against, and he’s almost there himself—so close—feeling the tension build as he watches Brendon spread his legs wider.

“Wait. Spence, stop.”

Brendon’s hand comes down on his wrist, dragging Spencer’s hand away from his dick and gently pushing him to the side, away from Ryan. Spencer groans in frustration. He’s so ready to come, just needs another couple of strokes and he’d be right there. _Fuck_.

“Ryan, get up,” Brendon says, moving around to the head of the bed. “You get to be in the middle.”

Spencer’s brain whites out. He’s vaguely aware of Ryan moving close to him, someone opening a condom wrapper and helping him roll the thing onto his dick. There’s something cool and wet on his hand, sticky as he rubs it on himself, and then there’s Ryan in front of him, and Ryan’s hand guiding him to the right place, and then there’s heat, coming at him from every direction and making him moan desperately from how good it all feels.

He takes a deep breath, tries to keep it together.

“First time Ryan fucked me,” Brendon says, “he lost it on the first stroke. Hottest thing I’ve seen. Ever.”

“Shut up,” Ryan says, and Spencer can tell he’s blushing. “We’re so not talking about that, holy shit.”

“Someday, I’m going to get Ryan off without even touching him,” Brendon says, a decidedly evil smirk on his face. “Make him cream his jeans during practice or something.”

“That would be hot,” Spencer agrees, pinching Ryan teasingly at the waist. Ryan retaliates by pushing his hips back, and Spencer slides all the way in, feeling Ryan close around him like a glove.

He moans, rocking his hips to chase the sensation, and Ryan moves with him, helping him set a slow rhythm as Spencer starts to fuck him. He’s vaguely aware of Brendon changing positions in front of them—feeling Ryan all around him takes up most of his focus—and almost gets headbutted when Ryan suddenly moans loudly and his entire body arches.

Spencer reaches forward, past Ryan’s hips, and feels the curve of Brendon’s thigh under his hand, moving in sync with Spencer and Ryan. He bites his lip and opens his eyes; Brendon is on his hands and knees in front of Ryan, pulling away when Spencer does, making Ryan fuck him at the exact tempo Spencer sets.

“Harder,” Brendon pants, spreading his legs more and letting his head drop between his arms. “Spencer, Ryan, come on.”

Spencer couldn’t agree more. He puts both hands on Ryan’s hips, pushing into him as deep as he can go, faster and faster until he’s practically slamming Ryan’s body against Brendon’s. In front of him, Brendon is moaning, letting his mouth run wild and saying some of the dirtiest shit Spencer’s ever heard, while Ryan is reduced to a whimpering mess in his arms, barely staying up as Spencer pounds into him.

Spencer takes another deep breath, counts down in his head, trying to make it from fifty to forty, then to thirty, then lower still, dragging the pleasure out another thirty seconds, another minute—

Ryan comes between them, collapsing on a loud groan while his body clenches around Spencer’s, hot and tight and more than enough to push him right off the edge as well. His whole spine feels like it’s melting and shooting out through his dick, toes curling and fingers tightening their grip on Ryan’s hips enough to give him bruises. He throws his head back, hearing a broken moan break from his throat followed by a whiny sound he’s sure he’s never made in his life (and will probably be embarrassed by later. If he ever gets his brain back).

Brendon’s still moving against Ryan, working one hand quickly between his legs, and then he goes still as well, melting back into Ryan and tilting his head back, angling for his mouth.

Ryan kisses him, wrapping one arm around Brendon so that they’re all sitting back on their heels, coming down together. Spencer nuzzles the side of Ryan’s face, stupidly happy, and Ryan leans into the touch, reaching down with his free hand to grab one of Spencer’s, tangling their fingers tightly together.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Brendon says, twisting around a little more to get a kiss from Spencer, “but I’m thinking this three-way thing really rocks.”

“Ménage à trois,” Ryan says, butting in to steal Spencer’s kisses back. “Three-way sounds so... plebeian.”

“I’ll plebeian you if you start being a pretentious ass in bed,” Brendon says. “And your mom. Hard.”

Spencer starts laughing, can’t help himself. Brendon makes it worse, reaching over and tickling him until they all collapse in an exhausted pile on Brendon’s now frankly quite disgusting sheets.

None of them have the energy left to mind. Spencer reaches for Ryan, who settles into his body the way he has a million times, fitting even more perfectly now that they are no clothes between them. Brendon curls up against them for a while, pressing little kisses here and there until a huge yawn takes him over and giving them both a quick peck on the mouth before lying down beside them.

“So, guys,” he says, rolling onto his back and annoyingly taking most of the blanket with him. “How many people can you actually fit into a bunk?”


End file.
